


Where We Go, We Go Together

by Tell_Me_Tales



Series: Deals and Promises [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ...Okay I'm Done Now, Bill Cipher is Insane, Blood, Complete, Death, Forgive my Spanish, Gen, Gun Violence, One Shot, Same Coin Theory (Gravity Falls), Sanity and madness, Speaking of Two-Sided Coins..., beginnings and endings, brothers and demons, it's been a long time, life and death, love and hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 08:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13209921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tell_Me_Tales/pseuds/Tell_Me_Tales
Summary: Demons have a nasty tendency to come back for you. Ford discovers this the hard way.A "Same Coin" theory-fic, of a sort.





	Where We Go, We Go Together

"No!" Ford watches as Stan staggers back, the gunshot still ringing in his ears.

They shouldn't have come here. If Stanley had ever recovered all of his memories, he's sure his brother would have insisted they avoid this particular port and possibly the entire country. But Stan's memories aren't one-hundred percent and likely never will be. He hadn't remembered this gang, he hadn't remembered whatever he did to cross them, and so here they are.

"Tha's naw good," Stan slurs before he drops to the ground.

" _¿Y que tenemos aqui?_ " the Spanish is said gleefully and maliciously in equal measure. Ford doesn't need to understand the language to pick up on that much. " _¿Un otro Andres Alcatraz?_ " The ringleader laughs and Ford takes his chance.

He itches to rush over to check on Stanley but Ford forces himself to hurtle in the opposite direction, instead. A long-practiced movement relieves the front man of his gun, perhaps even breaks his wrist, and a swift punch renders him unconscious. The second goon goes down after Ford kicks him across the chin. He's diverted on his way toward his third target as one of the gang members gets wise and stops waiting for a clean shot. The man tackles him to the ground before Ford can take out any more of his compatriots and it isn't long before they all join in.

He hasn't been on the receiving end of a beating like this in years. His vision wavers and his nose breaks when a fist lands in the middle of his face. In the next second, however, something happens that radically changes the course of the fight.

There's a laugh. A loud, manic, horribly familiar laugh. And then five gunshots sound, followed by a disconcerting stillness. It isn't silent, though, not completely. The laughter dies down to be replaced with off-tune humming.

Ford fights against the hazy sensation in his head. Concussion? Or Panic? There's a possibility it's both.

Stanford waits in dread as he feels weight being lifted off of him. "Boy, this guy musta been packing away the burritos," he hears his brother grunt before the man (corpse, actually, but he doesn't want to think about that) slumped over his head is yanked back and then promptly dropped onto the dirty floor of the alley.

"Stanley?" he calls hesitantly, hopeful that he's wrong.

"Yeah, Sixer?" the other man asks before uncaringly kicking the last body away. When he turns to face Stanford, his eyes glow yellow through the dim light in the narrow space. "Woah! Easy!" The thing that isn't his brother (Bill, it's almost certainly Bill) grabs his shoulders and sits him up. "You look like ya've seen a ghost."

"Urk!" Ford's throat closes up in panic, trapping any reply he might have given.

Not-Stanley frowns at him. "What? I got somthin' on my face?" The yellow eyes blink and a terrible light of understanding fills them. "Hey! My co-pilot's down!" And the horrible, familiar laughter returns.

Ford can only tremble against the wall as terror keeps him rooted to the ground and silent. He'd thought this was over. He'd prayed for this to be over. Bill is supposed to be _dead_ , not walking around in Stanley's skin.

The laughter cuts off in a rattling cough and Bill wheezes for several long seconds around the chest wound Stanford had forgotten about after being unexpectedly faced with his greatest nightmare. "We're leaking!" the demon in his brother's body whines once he regains his breath.

And somehow, Stanford finds room in his already overwhelmed mind for yet more panic. Stan is going to bleed out unless something is done. Ford reaches out with a shaking hand and presses against the injury, trying to stem the flow. The bullet hole in his twin's flesh continues to weep blood around his fingers.

Bill hisses but stays put. He cocks his ( _Stan's_ ) head to the side before understanding dawns on him. "Aw, thanks, Buddy!" he coos, "But even trapped in these old bags of bones, we can do us one better!"

Bill releases one of Ford's shoulders and instead repositions his hand over Ford's. "Uh-uh-uh!" Bill says when Ford instantly -- almost _instinctively_ \-- attempts to pull his right hand out from under Bill's own. The demon's palm pins his in place and the five fingers clamp down between their six counterparts, locking the two hands together. "We can't do this without you, Sixer." Their joined hands erupt into blue flames.

Ford screams at the sight and jerks back hard enough to slam his head against the brick behind him. His vision turns grey at the edges and his head swims.

"Hey!" Bill snaps, "Don't damage the merchandise!"

A hand cups the back of his head and not a second later Ford feels the pins-and-needles sensation of Bill's fire. The scientist blinks rapidly as his vision and mind clear.

Yellow, glowing eyes are surrounded by a much loved face. The expression worn is one of anger and exasperation but grounded firmly in concern. He's seen it on his twin a thousand times, and, for a moment, he doubts. "St-Stanley?"

"Yeah?" the other says absently as the flames die down. Ford's fingers twitch against his chest more from nerves than anything else, but the small action draws the other's attention. "Hm? Oh, sorry, Sixer." The hand clamped around his loosens its vice-like grip but stays where it is.

Ford does his best to ignore the other man's frown, and the resulting spike in his heart rate, as he slips his hand free. "B--" he almost chokes on the name, "Bill?"

Yellow eyes meet Ford's and his lips purse in irritation, "Yeah? You gonna say somethin' besides my name over and over, Stanford?"

"That wasn't --" Ford swallows thickly, "I said two different names. Stanley and Bill."

"Heh." The entity, one that he is increasingly confused by and so held captive paradoxically by mind-numbing fear and fascinated curiosity, tilts his head as he considers the statement. "And they're both _mine_." After a pause, he adds, "One day, they'll be yours, too."

The scientist tries to make sense of that and fails. "What?" he asks in a whisper.

"You never understood what Bill Cipher was," Maybe-Bill-and-maybe-Stan says with a shrug, "That's not surprising. I forgot myself, for a while there." A sharp smile he's never seen on Stan before suddenly splits his face. "In fact, I forgot _myselves_!" He cackles in unhinged glee before suddenly stopping. "Wait. Should that be 'ourselves'? No, 'ourself'? _Ugh_ , human grammar. All this world's languages are so inadequate," the demon actually pouts.

"So, you're --" the words stick in his throat. He has to take a moment to swallow down his nerves and dread before trying again, "You are both Stanley _and_ Bill?" Ford wants to flinch away from even the thought of it. He had been worried about Bill's return since Stanley began regaining memories (and, foolishly, he had relaxed when nothing ominous seemed to happen in the first few months) but the idea that the two might have somehow ended up merged had never even crossed his mind.

"Was it because -- Was it a side effect of the memory gun?" It feels dangerous to bring it up and risk disrupting Bill's relatively peaceful mood, but Stanford finds that he _needs_ to know. Every part of him demands he seek out answers and knowledge no matter how frightful the discovery may be.

Bill stares at him, amusement in his eyes but shockingly no malice. "Poindexter, you have so much to learn," he says. And then the hand that had been cupping the back of his head slides around to catch Ford's cheek.

Stanford stills, his heartbeat tripping over itself and his breath catching in his throat. It isn't simply Stan's hand resting against his skin but Stanley's _touch_. The fingers positioned just so with just the right balance between insistence and allowance. This is reassurance after nightmares. This is care during illness. This is _home_.

"Oh, don't _cry_ ," Bill admonishes, "If you cry, we'll cry! I hate sympathy crying!"

Ford's pretty sure he manages to surprise them both when he returns the gesture. His hand settles lightly on Stan's cheek and Bill stares back in shock.

They remain frozen for a solid three seconds before the demon closes his eyes and relaxes against Ford's fingertips. A small, contented smile grows until his brother is wearing a more serene expression than he's ever witnessed on either Stan or Bill. Quietly, he remarks, "We don't reach balance very often."

"Balance?" Stanford whispers. It feels like it would be wrong to speak loudly.

"Mhmm," Bill hums before he opens his eyes, "You don't get to this level of crazy with only one mind." The demon taps Stan's temple, leaving a red smear behind from the blood still coating his right hand. "Stanford and Stanley are always fighting. Trying to find a balance is like herding cats!" Bill moves before the scientist can question his words and crowds Ford's space.

He presses a red-drenched hand against Ford's chest like an eerie parody. "I love you both so much it _aches_!" Bill declares, madness dancing in his golden gaze. His face twists into a snarl. His hand flies to Ford's throat and Bill's fingers tighten around the man's neck in warning for only an instant before the touch becomes featherlight. The demon inside his twin growls, "I hate you both so much it _burns_!" Bill's expression smooths out and he holds Stanford's face in both hands. "But, in the end," his voice suddenly calm and quiet again, "neither of us is self-destructive enough to let me kill all of us." Ford wants to look away from the intensity of Bill's prolonged stare but the hands on his face hold him still and closing his own eyes isn't something he's willing to do while Bill is so close to him. "Near thing, though."

"I don't understand," Ford says after nearly a full minute of silence, when he deems it to be possibly-less-than-suicidal to speak again.

"Ha! Don't try that, Fordsy! Of course you do!" Bill gives him a smile like shards of glass, "All those stupid mistakes you've made, every regret that dogs your steps, you hate yourself! If you ever decide to pay attention, Smart Guy, you'll figure out pretty quickly that Stanley's in the exact same boat." The demon snickers. "Heh, boat. Ooh, and let's not forget all that resentment you two have for each other that you still haven't cleared up! And you won't, by the way. Not completely."

"That's not true!" he refutes. He's a bit surprised that, when he shakes his head in denial, Bill willingly releases his hold. The demon leans back, allowing a more bearable distance between them. "We have our issues, but we're working on them!"

"Of course it's true!" Bill claims in a borderline giddy tone, "This isn't the first time I've lived this, you know! It's not even the second time! We've looped so many times we've lost count!"

Ford attempts to make sense of what he's being told but between Bill's lies and insanity he can't be sure which, if any, of his theories are valid. Finally, he decides to ask a question that perhaps he should have asked sooner, "What and _who_ is Bill Cipher?"

The demon's eyes gleam with a manic light, as if he's been waiting for Stanford to ask. "Oh, there's a lot of ways I could answer that," he says.

"Then give me the answer I need," he is fairly certain his voice remains as level as it does only because of how surreal this entire conversation is.

Bill releases a childlike giggle. "Ages ago, further back in the past than your little human mind can comprehend, I was born separate but together. My name was Stanley Pines. My name was _Stanford_ Pines."

Ford opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

"One of your short, human lifetimes later, we were dying separate but together. Well, half of me was, and we couldn't let go. Half of me was dying but we couldn't abandon us again. So we made a _promise_." Bill's expression becomes focused in a way that makes all the little hairs on Ford's body stand on end. "Promises can be even more dangerous than deals, Poindexter. Remember that," he warns, "After we died, there wasn't a 'separate' anymore, only _together_ ; but humans aren't made for that, so we broke. We shattered until we could _fit_. Let that hot mess marinate for a few hundred-millennia and here I am!"

"H-how is that even possible?"

Bill shrugs. "Beats me," he says, "I've been remembering all kinds of things since you forced that reset on our memories. But where the power came from originally? What it was? That part is still hazy."

"Your creation is a stable time loop. I could disrupt it," he realizes suddenly, "I could erase you."

Bill stares at him in dead silence and Ford's stomach drops as it dawns on him how stupid that had been to say out loud. The demon's blank facade cracks as his mouth twitches and then he doubles over in howling laughter. Bill's guffaws bounce and echo through the alley they're in and he clutches at his stomach, head finding a resting spot on Ford's shoulder. The scientist stiffens, caught between his desire to pull away and his uncertainty about the wisdom of the action. ~~There is a small part of him that is perfectly fine with staying put.~~

Bill wraps an arm around him in something resembling half a hug. "Sorry, too late for that! I already exist! And ' _stable_ '!" The demon laughs again. "What makes you think _anything_ about us is stable? I'm not some neat little loop in your timeline; We're a tangle of knots in all of spacetime!

"You could save yourself, though," Bill says, manic edge dropping out of his voice like a skydiver out of an airplane. He raises his head and pulls away enough to match gazes with Ford but his hand fists in the other's shirt almost fretfully. "Stanley's already doomed this go 'round, but _you_ aren't. You -- Oh, who am I trying to kid? It's going to begin the same way it always does. You never turn down the deal." Bill scowls. "Neither of you two idiots do."

"Why do you think I would ever do anything to knowingly help create _you_?" Ford demands, probably putting more faith in Bill's claims than he should, "I _hate_ you!"

The demon looks at him like he's a particularly slow child struggling with an especially simple concept. "Of course you do, Poindexter," he says, "but you have more that just hate for me. Otherwise, you would have tried to kill me by now. Or run. We're still here. You haven't tried to do either."

"That's because -- Stan -- I can't --" Realizing the truth behind Bill's latest statement is like a punch to the gut.

Bill sighs. He buries his (relatively clean) left hand in Ford's hair and closes his eyes as he rest his forehead against Stanford's own. "Breathe, Sixer, breathe."

Ford hates that Bill is simultaneously responsible for causing the panic attack and soothing it.

Bill waits for Stanford to collect himself before speaking again, "You know, the thing about love and hate, is that they're not mutually exclusive. You want to know why you choose the same way every time? You want to know why I'm certain you won't change it? It's because I'm not just Stanley and you. I'm all those volatile emotions you have for yourselves and each other, too. I'm all those thoughts you never wanted anyone to know and the same for Stan. I'm every clash in your personalities and opinions. I know you better than you can imagine. More than any of that, though, I'm your last act of love for your brother. And that part never changes."

They sit in silence. What more can be said after _that_?

Ford has no idea how much time passes but Bill draws him out of his thoughts when he says, "Oh, hey! My co-pilot's finally waking up! I was almost starting to worry about him." He sits up straight and forces Stanford to meet his gaze as he instructs, "Be good to your brother, Nerd. Oh, and maybe don't tell him about this? Stan has a tendency to jump to last resorts first. See you next time, Brother!" Bill flashes Ford one more grin only for his eyes to lose their yellow hue, returning to Stanley's warm brown, and the body to slump forward.

Ford catches Stan's body before it can collapse entirely.

Stanley groans and squints up at him. "Poindexter?" he moans again, "Oh, you would not believe the headache I have right now. Whatever we were drinking last night --" the man cuts himself off as he takes in his brother's appearance. "Why are you covered in _blood_?" Stan demands in a panicked voice.

"I --" Ford struggles to find words. He needs time to think, to process. He shakes his head slowly, still half in disbelief over the past several minutes of revelations that may or may not even be true. "I'm not hurt," he finally says, "but we should, we should _go_."

Stan looks around them and his jaw drops. "Holy cow, Ford! What did you do to these guys?"

The man opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then gives up with a shake of his head. "Let's go."

Stanley drops the question. "Yeah, okay. I don't really want to stick around and wait for the cops to get here, either," his brother glances around with a frown, "Any clue where your glasses got to?"

"My..." Ford trails off and brings up a hand to feel his face. Unfortunately, it's the blood-covered one but that barely registers as he realizes two things in short order. First, his nose is no longer broken and he won't be surprised if he walks away from this entire incident without so much as a bruise to show for it. Second, his glasses are indeed missing, but his sight remains unimpaired. Bill may have done too good of a job at patching him up, though only time will tell if his improved vision is permanent. "It doesn't matter. We can visit an optometrist later."

He manages to coax Stanley back to the _Stan O' War II_ and the open sea with the minimal amount of hassle that can be expected for two obvious foreigners covered in patches of drying blood.

* * *

Years later, Ford's breath rattles in his chest with every inhale.

He's dying. He knows that. He's almost even okay with it. He's lived a full life, after all. The problem is that Stan knows too and he is in no way, shape, or form 'okay' with the situation. His twin has been hovering at his bedside since there's been a bedside to hover at.

"Hey, Ford," Stan says suddenly, "you remember when we were kids? Back when we found our first boat?" He grabs Ford's hand and laces their fingers together tightly. "I made you a promise that day."

Stanford freezes for a moment before he squints up at the other man's face suspiciously. "Bill?"

The man gives a laugh but it borders on being a sob. "Naw," Stan denies, though one of his eyes immediately takes on a yellow hue. The tears that had been building up in that eye's lashes slip down Stanley's cheek like liquid gold. "I mean, he's kicking around in here, too, of course, but he ain't the one in control right now." The man releases a fit of shaky giggles. "Actually, he's already chewed me out for this. He sounded a lot like you when he did it. 'Course, he's not exactly of _one mind_ on this, so he turned right around and egged me on, once he was done with the lecture bit."

Stan's face flushes, though Ford thinks it's probably Bill causing it. And if that's the case, it's difficult to tell if it's from anger, or embarrassment, or something else while Stan remains otherwise in control of their facial expressions.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ford questions, absently brushing his thumb over the back of his twin's.

"I'm a selfish bastard, Ford. You know that. I wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't something I wanted," Stan says.

"Liar," Ford answers, voice more of a wheeze than he'd like. Dammit, he's already getting tired again.

"Not this time," Stanley says stubbornly, "I meant every word then, and I still mean them now. Where we go, we go together. Where you go, I'll follow." Blue fire flares around their joined hands, binding the promise and their souls.

Ford closes his eyes. He's too exhausted to curse out his brother, and Bill, and himself, and the whole damned multiverse that keeps letting this happen over and over again. He's had years to turn the idea over in his mind, to attempt to understand, or reconcile, or prevent it, but it is only now that he has the clarity to understand Bill's certainty on the subject. Bill had warned him that a promise could be more dangerous than a deal. The demon was right, but he'd failed to mention how one promise lead to another.

They're going to regret this.

They're going to _revel_ in this.

They're going to be ripped apart and remade by this.

He opens his eyes with a gasping chuckle that he's aware must sound unhinged, and perhaps it is. It's definitely madness he's chosen, choosing, will choose again just as he's chosen before. Maybe Bill's insanity has found its way to him already.

"Ford?" Stanley says warily.

Stanford works to calm himself. When he looks at his brother, Stan's eyes are wide. His brown eye is worried; meanwhile, the yellow eye holds something like a gleeful rage.

Stan reaches out a shaking hand and thumbs away tears from Ford's face. He's surprised by that. He hadn't realized he was crying. When Stan pulls his hand back and Ford sees it coated in a thin layer of liquid gold, he's less surprised. His twin looks between his own hand and Stanford's face. "I, I didn't m-mean to... That's not what I... Don't hate me?"

Ford shakes his head but feels his mouth split into a wide, dangerous grin that isn't his. A matching, deranged grin appears on Stan's face. The demon knows it's won. The rest is formality. Bill waits patiently. He hovers near the surface but Ford knows what being controlled by Bill Cipher is like and this isn't it. His actions are still his own.

They are terrible, selfish people to do this to all the unsuspecting worlds of the multiverse. Ford is having a difficult time remembering why he should care when the most important person in _his_ world needs him.

The tingling sensation from the last promise hasn't left his hand. Ford is half convinced it never will. "It's alright, Stan. I'm here. I always will be. From now, until the end of time," he swears, binding them tighter still than the first promise had on its own.

Ford has just enough time to glimpse Stan's panic and Bill's triumph before the flames engulf them. Bill tugs greedily at his spirit and Ford doesn't bother to resist. Stan does, for just a second, which means Ford is already there to catch his brother.

And then, just as Bill had told him years ago, there is no 'separate' anymore. Instead, there is --

**Fear**

_Comfort_

         Sorrow

**Guilt**

_Forgiveness_

Greed                   

_Anger_

**Joy**

_Acceptance_

Victory       

**Confusion**

  Madness

\-- only 'together.'

* * *

Reality tangles as they loop around themselves through time and across dimensions.

They are Stanford and Stanley Pines.

They are born and die together but separate.

They are Bill Cipher.

They are born and die in the fire they strike.

It only seems right that they invite the multiverse to burn with them.


End file.
